


I'm Revvy

by Hectrex



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games), SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon)
Genre: "Sing, Cursed content, I Made Myself Cry, M/M, and I began to howl", said the darkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 09:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30103530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hectrex/pseuds/Hectrex
Summary: This work does not exist. You have found nothing here, and the void of space still demands that you turn back. Remaining here, in this empty palace, will only consign you to a dungeon where torment will arise so monstrous that not even the chief of masochists could derive pleasure from it.
Relationships: Spongevenant Simulacrumpants
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	I'm Revvy

**Author's Note:**

> C/W: Vore (I don't know if this qualifies or not, but it feels adjacent to soft vore, so I'm going to play it safe and mention this upfront. I'm not an expert and don't intend on being one.) 
> 
> A/N: If you've somehow found this, please know that it is not reflective of my tastes or writing skills. I would not classify it as a joke or farce, but an absurdity. This will be my first crossover, and possibly a death knell for my credibility. You should know, confused reader, that this was done out of a base need to create something cursed. It resides in us all. I just have terrible judgement. This originated when an Apex fan artist, Cryophase, stated they had undergone an unnatural dream where they had come under scrutiny for writing this very fanfiction (although it was much vaguer than what oozes here). Some otherworldly fascination with the abhorrent compelled me to bring it to life. I'm unsure if salvation is available for one as wretched as I, but you should at least check out their wonderful art @cryophase on Twitter. 
> 
> And please, find relief in knowing that the hatred you will feel after this is but a birthday candle compared to what my mirror has absorbed. 
> 
> Let us begin.

The current is calm as it creates a low rumble along the prickly exterior of the SquarePants household. Lightly tumbling, the sand in the yard shifts and dances with the morning flow. In a soft creeping, the sunrise refracts down to the ocean floor and glints off the porthole of the master bedroom. On the other side of the glass leans a lanky, mechanical man, death reflecting off of his skeletal frame. Revenant has to lower himself to see out the window and admire the sun as it beckons another day in the underwater city.  
  
The simulacrum had discovered the aquatic metropolis years ago, awakening into one of his numerous bodies that littered the bottom of the sea. After a particularly nasty and disheartening reboot, he sought to come here and destroy the town to let off some steam. Instead, however, he met a radiant rectangle that would one day become his soulmate and ease every ache he ever raged through.  
  
That same rectangle now rises from the bed, awakening from another pleasant rest. Yawning and rubbing the sand from his eyes, SpongeBob is up before his alarm, sensing the lack of Revenant's stabbing, cold, metallic presence.  
  
Revenant looks back, and says in his deep, dark voice, "You're up? Sorry if I woke you."  
  
SpongeBob's high, nasally tone contrasts as he slides from under the covers, "Did I push you out of bed again?"  
  
"No, I just..." Revenant trails off, a weight pressing on his mind, a weight too great to lift on his own.  
  
The sponge picks up where his lover left off, "More of the dreams? Maybe I can help put a smile on that face."  
  
"It's always the same. Screaming. Pain. I feel the urge-" Revenant's hand straightens into a blade, "- and I have to trap myself here. I can't look at you when that happens, because I'm afraid of what I'll do. If I look at the window, I can see myself looking back, intimidating the beast into submission."  
  
He senses a hand on his shoulder, and for once, it does not jar him. Is this progress? This calming sensation that overwhelms him. He used to be averse to contact, unless it involved his own killing hands. But to be so gently welcomed and understood... it was alien, but in a divine way.  
  
"You really should eat your breakfast! That always cheers you right up, pal!"  
  
Before Revenant can protest, SpongeBob pops off one his arms and hands it to the simulacrum.  
  
"Go on," the diminutive sea-dweller whines, "you need this. I have to make sure my prince of death is well fed. Don't act like you don't want it."  
  
Slowly, Revenant grabs the arm, opens his jagged mouth, and begins to gnaw on his husband's springy limb. He cannot taste it, but imagines it to be sweet and eggy in flavor. If the words of encouragement and acceptance don't calm the pain, this ritual is sure to satisfy the programming. The arm begins to crumble and, as usual, falls into pieces out of the metal mouth, since Revenant has no way of swallowing them. He is fortunate to have spawned into an upgraded version of his usual form this time around, complete with a sharpened maw for added terrorizing effect, but the facade doesn't continue down his neck.  
  
With a new arm quickly regrown, SpongeBob catches the pieces of the old one and scolds, "Now don't you worry about taking this when you need it, Mr. Murder Machine. If it helps you feel better, I'm more than happy to donate it, and you should know that by now."  
  
Revenant smiles, "That's why we're married, spongebag."  
  
"That's not the only reason, is it now? Hmmmmmmm?" SpongeBob teases.  
  
"Shut it. You know better than that. I love you more than death itself."  
  
SpongeBob smiles and kisses Revenant on the cheek, "I guess I need to get ready for work. Another fabulous day at the Krusty Krab!"  
  
Revenant stays at the window, seeing the sun crest the horizon and feeling a warmth within himself, somehow. Three years. And when he looks back, the simulacrum sees that so much has changed. He shouts less. The memories rarely arise. The city has mostly grown used to his presence. Even Gary sits in his lap and purrs calmly. He's become a different person. He feels... human again. And the most surprising part is that the thought brings him peace. A circle completed, a valley exited, and a future that grows higher than the past. This was the secret formula his source code could never have predicted.  
  
After a tender goodbye, SpongeBob swings out his arms, squeaks down the walkway, and begins his customary tune. Revenant stares on and thinks to himself: I'm ready too; ready to start over, leave the pain, and learn the depths of love that await. His time with the sponge has left him feeling cleaner than ever before.  
  
"Heh, absorbent and yellow and amorous is he."

**Author's Note:**

> Afterward  
> Mankind's creativity is naught but the trickery of the gods. In it lies the most daring adventures, sensuous love, and deepest bonds of friendship. We follow the trails of morality and hike higher and higher into the crags of human experience, bridging cliffs like fingers steepled in contemplation. But there are no heights without comparable depths, and the coin cannot continuously flip heads without ultimately, shockingly, turning to tails, lest we be trapped in mediocrity and banality like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 
> 
> I have dipped my pen into the shadows of those depths. I find no pleasure in it. Just the laughter of a mind taken by madness, for what other response is so close to chaos other than mirth? It is a corrupted joy, as if I have reveled in a crime while preparing for the inevitable justice that must be issued. 
> 
> These are stories that taint Creativity, spoiling its chances at divinity and chaining it to the weakness of our mortal shivering. Do I fashion a sculpture of grace, or have my hands forged a brutal hammer that will crush spirits and poison memory? I am left to these roads, and I cannot combine them, no matter my struggle for redemption. We are dust pretending to be glitter, no less worthless, but still enticing to greedy eyes. 
> 
> *Ghosts of Mississippi by The Steeldrivers begins to play softly*


End file.
